Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
That’s right. He’d felt the brush of it a split second before she’d vanished. Who was she? What was she?
He conjured her image, hoping to unearth answers. Instead he discovered unwanted fascination. Not beautiful, but stunning. She possessed a delicate bone structure, with eyes like wounds, hemorrhaging agony. Her red lips were parted, as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath. She held on to a wee girl—a child who’d looked like her miniature.
Yes. Roux remembered the young one, too. Mother and daughter?
The moment he’d spotted the youth, he’d altered the trajectory of his swing. To win a war, he would commit atrocities. And had, often. But harm a wee one? Never. It was a line he refused to cross. The only line. What if he’d done it inadvertently during his blackout?
Chest clenching, he searched the sea of bodies in his vicinity. When he found no sign of either female, relief sparked. Except, they hadn’t escaped the realm, either. Not with the Astra on guard. So where were they?
Had the pair been a figment of Roux’s broken mind? No, surely not. Unless they were. But they couldn’t be. No way his passionless mind had the capacity to concoct a fantasy female as lovely as the mother.
A sliver of critical information seemed to hover on the periphery of his awareness. Perhaps the key to unlocking the mystery of her. He had only to reach it.
Why couldn’t he reach it?
“She was there,” he muttered, “then she wasn’t.” Same with the girl. “There, then not there.” How? How! “There. Then not.”
“Be at ease, my brother.” The shirtless Silver offered the kindest smile he was capable of mustering: a swift baring of his teeth. His long black ponytail contained more blood than the walls. So did his bronzed, alevala-stained skin. On his chest and arms, those revolving tattoos displayed the faces of everyone he’d killed for the sake of his blessing tasks. Peer at one of the markings long enough, and you would relive the memory through Silver’s eyes.
Roux, too, wore his own terrible deeds in his flesh. All Astra did. “I am well.” His version of well, anyway. This was a time of celebration, not worry. “Why wouldn’t I be? We won.” As always.
“That we did.”
“What of our comrades? Any casualties?”
“None.” Eyes like mercury glowed with satisfaction, softening Silver’s overly harsh features. “As usual, the Commander ordered each of us to select a female we think he might wish to wed. We were to bring our selection to the harpy throne room. You failed to appear, and I came looking.”
The word us snagged Roux, as always. He and the other eight war gods first met countless centuries ago. They were rescued as children by Chaos, Ruler of the Abyss, then trained for war together. Roux never tired of being part of a unit.
Today, their unit embarked upon a new blessing task. The Commander—Roc—was to marry and sacrifice a virgin in thirty days.
Roux scanned the sleeping harpies once again. Who to pick? Roc had always preferred warrior women. But weren’t all harpies supposedly warrior women? So, Roux would go with hair color. But which hair color did the Commander prefer? Roux had never paid attention to the bedmates of his brothers-in-arms. Had never cared to pay attention.
Due to the circumstances of his birth, he’d never experienced the slightest spark of sexual attraction. He saw those around him as friend or foe, nothing more, nothing less. Until the black-haired stunner.
Why did he continue to think of her? Why, why?
“Don’t worry,” Silver said, giving his shoulder a final pat and drawing away. The split second of contact was the most Roux could tolerate outside of combat. Another consequence of his birth. “Ian delivered two harpies. One for himself, and one for you. He informed us of your...predicament.”
Relief eased a fraction of Roux’s tension. Ian was the ninth ranked Astra and responsible for cataloguing the aftermath of every battle. Roux was sixth and had been for the past millennia; he’d been demoted from third after a few “bouts of madness.”
“I will thank him,” he said. This wasn’t Roux’s first blackout; only his first blackout involving a breathtaking harpy.
There. Not there. Where is she?
“Thank him later. Now that you’re back in the game, we should head to the palace. The Commander has chosen his bride and completed the marriage ceremony. You are to report to the dungeon, where you’ll guard the unchosen. I’ve already reinforced the cell, ensuring there will be no escapes.”
The temperamental Silver did all metal work for the Astra. There was no one better.
“Gird your loins, stab yourself in the ears, and thank yourself later,” the warrior added. “These harpies aren’t like any other species we’ve encountered.”
Stab himself in the ears? Surely there’d be no need for such an extreme measure.
“I’ll be fine.” As Roux flashed to the dungeon to see to the prisoners, he did his best to scrub the black-haired female from his mind.